


Cinderfall

by rinskiroo



Series: Dragonslayers [2]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Character Death, F/F, Family, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Growing Up, Strained Relationships, disaster lesbian, the start of the adventure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21986875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinskiroo/pseuds/rinskiroo
Summary: Nídhien was always the hero of her own story, at least the one in her head.  Future stifled by her parents, she floundered through her privileged life.  But the sword is hers, the destiny is hers, and she's ready to take it.
Relationships: Nídhien Borsk & Sir Ian Borsk IV, Nídhien Borsk/Elora Nok
Series: Dragonslayers [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1211703
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	Cinderfall

In a beam of sunlight she stood--head held high, sword aloft. She was proud and earnest, ready to take on any who would stand in her way. There were gnolls and fiendish goblins harassing farmers in the outlying villages, but she had her sights set farther. There were grumbles from the giants in the north, long ago subdued, but regaining strength. She would show them they should stay in their mountain caves and never again tread the green fields of Acheiron.

“Nídhien.”

She would meet them in battle, head on, just as her father did. Drive them all the way back and wipe the scourge from the--

“Nídhien!”

The girl startled, her chin slipping from the hand it was resting on. The book in front of her was still closed while the other children sitting in the pews in the back of the church had theirs open in their laps. Nídhien looked up at the priestess currently trying to bring her back to the lesson. But Nídhien didn’t know what the lesson was, and frankly, didn’t care.

“If you would rather be somewhere else, then by all means.” The priestess likely meant it as rhetorical, or perhaps a challenge thinking that one of her students wouldn’t dare just get up and leave.

Nídhien, however, never quite thought in a way that most people did. “Okay.”

Gasps followed her out as she sprung up from her seat, book landing on the floor. She rushed out the doors of the church before the priestess had the chance to scold her into returning.

She tore the white bonnet off her head as she ran to the stables. All of her things were exactly as she had left them--short sword in its scabbard propped up against a small, wooden shield. Her pony was already saddled and ready to go, as the stable boy had likely seen her sprinting down the hill. Nídhien grabbed gear, mounted her mighty steed, and took off down the path leading out of the city and onto glory.

Now Nídhien, only eight, could only fight the monsters her vivid imagination could conjure. They were as real to her as the beasts that roamed the forest, the giants cowering in their caves, or the dragons banished before her birth. She told herself that one day, maybe when she was ten or twelve, she’d be able to travel with her father’s knights and help keep their people safe. If she had been able to carry a sack full of food, perhaps she could have gone farther than the Geese Meadow, maybe all the way to the Wishing Waterfall or deep into the Spoopy Forest, but the meadow was where she was, swinging her sword at the phantom dragon when her father found her.

“Papa!” she cried as he rode into the meadow atop the chestnut stallion. He wasn’t wearing his armor, as he rarely did these days outside of official functions, but he wore the silver and gold tabard that marked him as one of the King’s chosen knights. “Have you come to slay the dragon with me?”

Her father came down off his horse, worn leather boots hitting the ground heavily. He grunted as she ran up to him and he swept her up in his arms, swinging her around. He gave off a hearty laugh as her sword fell to the ground and she smacked at his chest with her tiny fists to put her down. Too big, she was, to be swung around like a toddler.

“Oh, honeycomb,” he said as he set her back down on the grass. “Isn’t there a class you’re supposed to be in right now?”

Her father the knight looked much smaller without his armor on, but he still stood well over six foot and built like a man who had swung a sword and hoisted a mighty shield for the majority of his life. He towered far over her and her lithe four feet, but she stood with her fists planted on her hips and her nose held high.

“Priestess Claron said I could leave.”

“She was being facetious.”

“People should say what they mean,” Nídhien replied stubbornly, holding her ground.

With a sigh, he crouched down until they were near at eye level. He wasn’t that old, but grey hair peppered his dark hair and beard; the lines around his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Yes, they should, but you…” He sighed again as he pushed the tangled mess of hair out of her face and looked her over. Her once white smock was covered in dirt and grass stains. She at least had the good enough sense to change from city clogs to riding boots, but those were caked with mud. And she was missing yet another bonnet.

“Your mother is really not going to be happy that you’ve ruined another one of these jumpers. And you know she’s going to take it out on me, probably in Elvish.”

Nídhien laughed and pushed away as he tried to squeeze her in for a hug that was likely trapped with tickles. The running away was usually always worth it if it was her father that found her.

As she got older though, subsequent escapes from mundane and magical academics were not treated as kindly. Eventually, it became too much trouble for the adults in her life to chase her down and force her to do things she didn’t want. There had been many avenues that were tried, from clergy to artisan to animal handling to transcribing, but nothing kept her attention.

At fourteen, she begged her father to let her squire. Her brother had squired at twelve and was now training to be in the town guard. For Nídhien, there was no reason why she shouldn’t be allowed to take the same path. And she told her father that, loudly, right there in the tower yard in front of his Knight-Lieutenants.

“It’s not fair! You keep telling me to find what I want and this is what I want! Ian did it!”

The knights were used to seeing their commander’s children have the run of him, but usually out in town, not here where the serious business of the realm was conducted. They were of course professional and gave her father a nod before turning away to the other tasks that suddenly and immediately needed their attention.

“Nídhien,” he warned, “this is not the place--”

“You always give Ian whatever he wants! He gets to squire, gets to travel with the army, gets to stay out late with his friends. And Tathan? All he wants to do is sit around and play music and you don’t give him half the shit you--!”

“Nídhien!” It was rare that the Knight-Commander ever raised his voice, to anyone, let alone his daughter, but even that didn't seem to deter her indignant tirade.

“Oh so the swearing upsets you? Well shit fuck cock goddamnit motherfucker.” She even threw in some extra expletives in Elvish she knew he wouldn’t understand and one in Giant, which she knew he would.

In the depths of her overactive imagination, in all of the ways she envisioned this confrontation would go, she never saw the hand striking her across the face. Sir Ian Borsk, fourth of his name, stalwart and honorable knight, had never struck any of his children until that moment. It was an abrupt break in their very close relationship. No matter how much he regretted it, or how he later apologized, it became a rift that could not be crossed.

Nídhien ran as far and as fast as her legs would take her. No one came to look, or if they were looking, they never managed to look hard enough to find her. A week later, when she came home, she shrugged off the muted relief of her parents and things went back to a facade of normal.

Nídhien’s days were boring, mostly. She usually spent the mornings training on her own, or what she qualified as training. Running, jumping, swinging a sword at trees, convinced that her father wouldn’t dare let her do anymore training in the yard--though she never asked. Afternoons were lazy, usually spent underneath a tree or in a pub with a book. Nídhien did actually enjoy learning, but having to sit with a group and be told what and how to learn--that was what she didn’t like. Like everything, she preferred things in her own way and at her own pace.

There were often still questions, usually at family meals, about what she planned to do with her life. Nídhien still wanted to join the King’s army, but didn’t say that because she knew how that conversation would go and was tired of being talked down to. She would shrug and tease Tathan about his music or snap at Ian to stop being such a kiss ass. Her mother tried to be diplomatic and offered up tasks that needed doing around the church or elsewhere in town. Her father remained silent, until his children’s prodding at each other devolved into mean-spirited bickering and he had to put his foot down, making the whole table eat in silence.

Her monotony took a turn one morning late in her teenage years while she was charging awkwardly down the practice lane on her horse wielding a lance. It was not going how she thought it would go, but she was determined. Mounted combat was something she would need to learn and jousting was a time honored skill of knights.

“You are holding that all wrong,” a voice shouted from the fence.

Nídhien frowned and glanced to where there was apparently now an audience. It was just one person--a woman with short black hair, the point of a longbow sticking up from behind her head, and wearing the silver and gold tabard of one of her father’s knights.

As Nídhien trotted her horse over to her, she noticed the woman was young, and that Nídhien did in fact recognize her. She couldn’t remember her name, but remembered that she had squired the same time as her brother, but her hair had been longer then.

“I’m Elora,” she gave her name likely in response to the confused look of almost-recognition that Nídhien had on her face. “And you have to keep your shoulder up, or you’ll fall off your horse.”

“Thanks,” Nídhien said, though she still sounded unsure about the advice. “Did my father send you?”

“No, I don’t work for you father,” she said with a grin. Then, stopped, looked down at her tabard, and winced as she reconsidered her words. “I mean, I do work for him, officially, but I’m here unofficially. I was curious about how hard you train yet still…”

“Flounder through life?” Nídhien supplied, finishing Elora’s sentence with a popular phrase she had heard said about her by well-meaning adults. “I’m flakey and irresponsible with delusions of grandeur. I lack the ability to commit to anything and the discipline to just suck it up and accept that you don’t always get what you want in life.”

“And what is it you want in life?”

Nídhien blinked at her. No one had really asked her directly what she wanted before. Everyone assumed what she wanted, or assumed they knew what was best for her. To Nídhien, it still wasn’t exactly clear what it was that she wanted. She only knew that she wanted more. “To do great things.”

“And what makes things great?”

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I suppose, when it happens, I’ll know.”

Elora laughed, though Nídhien didn’t know what she said that was funny. “Sitting around and waiting is a great way to make sure nothing happens. Good luck, Lady Borsk.”

“Wait a minute!” Nídhien called after her, her horse stomping the ground in mimicked agitation. “You can’t just show up here and tell me I’m doing it wrong and then leave. Spit it out of if you think you have something worth mentioning.”

Elora turned, a small smirk forming on her thin lips. “Well, since you asked. Your narrow elf shoulders aren’t well suited to wielding a lance. Your sword-work is rather juvenile as well.”

“My--how dare you!” Nídhien fumed as she tossed the lance down to the grown and dismounted her horse. Just who did this woman think she was--coming over here and interrupting her rather private exercise and hurling these absolutely baseless insults.

“I just mean--” Elora held up her hands as Nídhien stomped in the mud towards her. “It’s not about being able to do it all. Being exceptional at one thing is better than being mediocre at everything.”

“No one’s ever told me I’m _mediocre_ before,” Nídhien said, rather stunned. In fact, as far as martial skills went, she’d usually received compliments. But then, she had never really responded well to criticism, which may have been why any helpful advice had long since stopped coming and why she was out here alone.

“Well, you’re downright terrible at jousting.”

Nídhien could have taken it as another slight, and she was in the mood to do it, but Elora’s grin was playful and her tone joking. And Nídhien knew that she was lucky to not have injured herself with how poorly she was doing. She never had any problem admitting her faults, if she saw them.

Elora reached behind her and pulled the bow off her back and tossed it to Nídhien. “How do you feel about archery?”

Nídhien shrugged as she looked at the curved longbow in her hands. “Passable, I guess.”

“Can you hit the dummy at the end of the run?” Elora asked as she hopped over the fence and pulled an arrow from her quiver.

Nídhien looked down the muddy lane torn up by horse hooves to the straw dummy with a helmet at the end of the jousting run. She nocked the arrow and pulled the string back, lifting the bow with a steady arm. She had always considered archery more of a hobby or a game--not nearly as important as being able to swing a sword. With aim and a breath, she set the arrow free and watched as it whistled through the air and struck the dummy center mass.

Beside her, Elora whooped and smacked her on the shoulder. “Oh, yeah, quite passable. Okay, my turn.”

Elora took the bow back, and then turned her back on the dummy. She nocked the next arrow and set her sights on a tree next to the barn.

“Why aren’t you aiming at the dummy?”

“I am.”

The arrow flew straight on for the tree--and then past it. Nídhien watched, mouth agape, as the arrow curved through the air and sailed back to the left and embedded itself into the side of the dummy. Obviously, it had to be magic. The bow looked like any other standard issue longbow and the arrows just as mundane, but Nídhien had never seen anything like without weapons that had been imbued.

“That’s amazing,” she said, still dumbstruck. “But I’ve never been any good at magic.”

“It’s not about spells or scrolls, or any of that. It’s not academic, it’s….” Elora, looking almost elated to get to explain this incredible skill she possessed, lit up as she searched for the words to describe it. “It’s about feeling it, and manipulating the physical rather than some intangible ley energy.”

“How long did it take you to learn that?” Nídhien asked.

“Not long,” she responded with a grin. “I could show you, if you like.”

Nídhien was doubtful. Magic always held this elusive quality, something she could never quite put her finger on. She had managed to retain minor blessings that her mother had taught her, but anything more had always been beyond her. They told her she lacked the intellect, the discipline, and the focus for either the arcane or the divine. More likely, none of those things really quite held qualities that were interesting to her.

Curving arrows and other sorts of tricks that Elora was describing--those things quite held her interest. As did the person detailing them.

Perhaps it was that Nídhien finally had something she felt that she could be good at--something that could give her that step up into a life she had dreamed for herself. Or perhaps it was that she had companionship and someone who listened to her absurd ideas and didn’t dismiss her quirks. As years past, things changed for the better. She was different--more confident, more mature. Even her relationship with her parents mended over time. She was less combative and sarcastic, except with her elder brother--they were always each other’s foil.

It was this earned self-assurance that took her to stand in front of her father and ask for another chance. This time, she did it privately, away from his knights, embarrassed, now years later, at the foolishness of her long ago public tantrum.

“You’re too old to squire, Nídhien,” he said, though looking apologetic as he did so.

“I know. But I thought… you’re the Knight-Commander. And you know how hard I’ve trained.”

She watched as he glanced down at his boots. The muscles in his jaw flexed as he chewed over her words. It was a look she knew quite well--the look of him about to deliver news she didn’t want, but he was trying to put it in a way that would upset her the least.

“I can’t give you special treatment, Nídhien, but--” he said, trying to head off her protest. “You should take a position with the town guard. Learn and understand what it’s like to work in a unit. I’ll make sure they give you a fair chance.”

Nídhien scoffed and shook her head. Ten years and all that hard work and nothing had ever really changed. It took everything she had to bite her tongue. She bit it so well, she made nary a sound as she turned and walked away from him, silently fuming.

“I’m not going to work for Ian!” she shouted after telling Elora what had happened. Elora had the nerve to be on her father’s side.

“You’re not working for him--”

“He’s the captain of the guard!”

“Being a guard is working for the city. Protecting the people.”

“It’s arresting pickpockets and stopping drunks from wandering the street at night!”

“They cleared out those bands of goblins that were raiding the Mackey’s farms.”

“Goblins?!” Nídhien shrieked in response. “I didn’t learn to curve an arrow sixty feet in the opposite direction to fight fucking goblins!”

Elora scoffed and shook her head. “It took you ten years to fix your relationship with your family, and you’re telling me you’re going to throw that away because you’re not starting already four steps up the ladder?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then prove it. Stop being the spoiled girl who grew fat and lazy on the heroic stories your daddy told you and make something of your own life.” Elora always told it exactly how it was. Didn’t couch bad news in niceties or try to soften the blow, but it also never came from a place of meanness or condescension. And Nídhien loved her for that.

Nídhien realized she had screwed this up now, too. Maybe she was just spoiled and the stories she’d been told were just that. She wasn’t destined for greatness, just normalcy. “I’m sorry.”

“You need to give the commander a break. He’s got a lot on his plate right now.”

Nídhien recognized the slip of the tongue when she heard it. A tidbit of information that she wasn’t supposed to have. Her father always had a lot on his plate--he commanded the King’s army and oversaw the defense of the city. There was something else, now--something more.

“What’s going on?” Nídhien asked. “Has something happened?”

“We’re not supposed to say. Don’t want to panic civilians.”

Nídhien pulled one of the chairs over towards where Elora was sitting and sat down close to her. Not that it was necessary, alone in their own house. “You can’t tell me that and not say what’s happening.”

Elora never held back, especially not with Nídhien, but now she was cautious. “You remember Mr. Langham?”

“Yeah, he was a bit odd--died suddenly. But he was kind of old.”

“His daughter was cleaning out his house and brought this box of stuff to the knight’s tower.”

“The tower? Why?”

“He had all sorts of… unholy items. Blood red robes, talismans with strange symbols--really creepy stuff.”

“Like the sort of stuff that was made illegal after the end of the dragon wars?”

“Why are you smiling like that?” Elora scolded the almost giddy look Nídhien now had on her face. “This is very serious.”

“Oh, yes, it is. This is exactly the sort of the thing the town guard should be investigating!”

“Nídhien, I didn’t tell you this so you would run off and start digging. I told you so you would be careful and understand that--where are you going?”

“To tell Ian that Papa said he has to hire me.”

It was a trial basis. Her brother made sure to emphasize the trial portion of that. She had to show up on time, stay with her partner, finish out the entire shift, and fill out all reports to completion.

Nídhien did not do those things.

To Nídhien, her day started on time, but not always from the guard barracks. Her partner was slow and not interested in the sorts of things that Nídhien had decided were of the utmost importance. And because all of her investigations were very much of things she was not supposed to know about, she did not put them in her reports.

Though hesitant at first, Elora assisted in Nídhien’s newfound crusade, if only to try and keep her from getting too carried away. There was the added benefit that any information they found was immediately passed along to the knights. Though it would be easy for anyone to assume that Nídhien may have discovered these clues, she insisted her name be kept out of it so that they would take the threat more seriously. She could take the heat from Ian thinking she wasn’t doing her job--that wasn’t anything new.

In a few weeks, they had made significant headway and Elora came home with the news that a cadre of knights were headed out to where they suspected the main cultist camp to be. Nídhien, of course, would not be among the squad, but she had faith in Elora’s ability.

“My father trained you well,” Nídhien told her before she left with a gentle kiss. “Ride to glory.”

In three days time, with no news from the group sent out to dispatch the camp, the Knight-Commander sent for his daughter. It was a summons that Nídhien knew in her gut was not going to go well. She could feel it coming as she stepped through the threshold of the tower gates. A solemn heaviness to the air and an eerie quiet, as if even the birds were paying their respects.

Nídhien barely even registered the embrace after her father delivered the news. Crushed against his silver and gold tabard for the first time in over ten years. Elora, and all of her company, were dead. She was never coming home.

She could still smell the singe of magic and blood wafting off of him, realizing that he had lead the second charge and finished what the previous group had started, and brought home their bodies.

“Why didn’t you go in first?” she asked in a hoarse whisper. “She told you how dangerous they were. It’s your job--you’re the dragonslayer.”

“I am sorry,” he responded, just as quietly. “But it’s over now. They’re gone.”

“No,” she said, pushing away from him, tears in her eyes. “This is bigger than one camp. Didn’t she tell you that?”

“Nídhien, how…?” The look he had on his face was one of confusion. She thought perhaps he had figured it out that the information had come from her. It was the private hope of a little girl still seeking her father’s approval that he realized Nídhien had been the source of the information and he would finally validate her ambitions. But he was never that wise. She should have known.

“I’m the one who figured it out, Father! Elora gave you MY information! So I know that they’re still out there. I know the threat is bigger than just one camp. This entire city will burn if we do not do something!”

“Okay, we will figure it out. First, we need to bury Elora and the others.”

She slapped away his hand as it reached for her, to try and calm her down, to try and fix her as he always did. “Do not placate me!”

Any other platitude he may have had were lost as she stormed out.

It was her mother that found her as she packed. Somehow, she always seemed to know when Nídhien was going to run. Over the years, she’d given her silver pieces for food or an extra cloak to help stay warm. This time, she draped a chain around her neck--one of her holy amulets.

“Are you sure your god hasn’t abandoned me?” Nídhien asked her darkly.

“It is not for the light that I give you this,” she said before pressing a firm kiss to the top of her head. “Stay good, Nídhien.”

In the center of the city was a memorial park. A great tribute to all that had fought against the tyranny of dragons. A reminder that such dark days would never be allowed to return. At the center of the park, a small building of glass had been erected to enshrine the sword that had felled the last dragon to terrorize Acheiron.

Dragon’s Bane--once wielded by Sir Ian Borsk, fourth of his name.

Nídhien had picked the lock on this glass building a thousand times, though tonight would be the last. As her hands reached for the sword on its pedestal, heavy booted feet sounded in the doorway behind her.

“When the great serpent fell, she took the magic of that sword with her. It is nothing more than a dull knife.”

Nídhien turned, resolve etched on her still tear-streaked face as she faced her father. “It is a symbol. And if I can find a way to restore its magic, no dragon or their worshipers would ever dare threaten us again.”

“Leave the sword, leave this quest. Come home and grieve and we will figure this out.”

“You don’t believe me,” Nídhien sneered at him. “You don’t believe that I can do this. You never thought I had what it took to be a knight, to fight beside you.”

“Leave the sword, Nídhien,” he warned again as her fingers closed around the hilt.

“All you care about is this sword!”

She heard the audible sigh as she lifted the sword from its resting place. Dust shook off of it and scattered in the air. It slid roughly into the scabbard at her hip.

“The sword isn’t what I care about, honeycomb,” he told her as she walked towards him, looking tired and sad. In all her years, she had always thought of her father as bigger than life itself and twice as strong. Never worn, never beaten. He stopped her and pulled her into a tight hug--the second of the day. “All I ever wanted was for you to be safe and happy. Why do you think your mother and I were over the moon when Tathan decided he wanted to play music and not pick up a sword? Ian’s captain of the town guard because I kept him out of the army. There is no glory in war, Nídhien, only pain.”

Her arms reached up and clenched around him. “Elora once asked me what makes things great. I told her I would know when it happens. This isn’t great; it’s horrible, but I have to do it.”

“I know,” he said with an unfamiliar quiver to his voice. “Your brother will be here soon. There was a silent alarm spell on the pedestal.”

Nídhien nearly laughed. Of course there was a spell, and her father knew that tripping it would bring the guard out in full force. “He’s never been able to catch me,” she said with a small grin as she pulled away.

“I hope that he does, but I don’t think he will.”

With the final press of her lips against the scruff of her father’s beard, Nídhien pulled away and headed out of the small, glass enclosure. “I’ll come back, Papa.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Like the thief she had become, Nídhien stole away into the night and left the only city, the only people, she had ever known.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Nídhien was my girl for almost 3 years an an epic campaign that I played with some amazing friends. I did not take extensive notes, but I did jot down several of the bigger moments in her life. Even without the big picture stuff, I hope it makes some sense. Thank you to anyone who reads her story. <3


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